


The Revisionists

by la_faerie



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, M/M, Married Couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-02
Updated: 2014-04-02
Packaged: 2018-01-17 20:56:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1402186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/la_faerie/pseuds/la_faerie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn and Niall plan a dinner party to introduce their mutual friends, Louis, Harry, and Liam, to each other. But when the evening doesn't go quite as planned, both Zayn and Niall do some thinking about their marriage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Revisionists

**Author's Note:**

> As always, thank you to the chicest Editor-in-Chief, Lindsay. This is for RamFam.

Zayn writes every day. Well, to be more exact, he types on his computer or his laptop, spending too many hours with a blank white document screen staring back at him. Being the arts critic for a newspaper is probably the type of job that’s on its way to dying out, but Zayn’s got it for the moment, and so he writes.

There’s something else going on though. Zayn’s hands feel restless even when he’s supposed to be finished with work for the day. Even when he comes home, home to his and Niall’s spacious new flat to see the familiar sight of Niall opening a beer and kicking his feet up onto the coffee table. Niall’s hair is somewhat wilted and tousled from a long day, but it looks good on him, and it’s little details like this that have Zayn grinning and pinching himself to make sure this isn’t a dream.

None of it is a dream, Zayn knows, because he can see the gold wedding band glinting on Niall’s ring finger, and can feel the matching ring he wears himself. Being married is both a big deal and not a big deal. 

It seems to Zayn that there’s a spatial point, a dot on a plane, in between _a big deal_ and _not a big deal_. Sitting down on the sofa next to Niall, brushing their fingers together in a gentle hello is a good start to reaching that point. But sometimes Zayn looks into Niall’s eyes and can’t read what’s there. Niall is allowed to have his private thoughts, things he doesn’t share with Zayn, but ever since the two of them exchanged matching rings with each other, privacy and intimacy have become difficult to parse out. Zayn settles back into his own space on the sofa instead of leaning into Niall.

So, Zayn writes every night. He puts pen to paper, filling a journal with any thought that comes into his head, any word, any memory. He writes the word _husband_ and then continues copying it down until he doesn’t recognize it, until it doesn’t even look like a word anymore. 

+

Niall is secretly kind of a neat freak. 

It’s not that Zayn is hugely messy. Well, he has let the stack of books he’s supposed to be reading for review pile up on his nightstand. And his collection of cologne bottles seems to have expanded and migrated from his own dresser to taking over the entire bathroom counter. If Niall wants to keep his deodorant and aftershave in a neat little row in front of the mirror, and organize his collection of Supras according to color, that’s his business. 

Except that it really is Zayn’s business too, because that’s what it means to be married. All of this space that they inhabit belongs to both of them. It had been that way when they lived together before the engagement, but Zayn feels that there’s a more meaningful edge to it now, can practically see the word _ours_ scrawled across the walls of their flat.

Their new flat is a three bedroom, with the second bedroom unofficially reserved for Harry when he sleeps over because, at his core, he doesn’t really like living alone. Zayn loves Harry, but that’s one thing he’ll never understand, the constant need to be around other people, the casual disregard for private downtime.

Zayn and Niall have converted the third bedroom into a sort of study for both of them to use, each with their own desk on either side of the room.

Zayn had brought an old cedar desk that had once belonged to one of his uncles. The wood of the desk still smells rich and nostalgic in that distinctive cedar way. If he ever manages to write a novel, he wants it to read the same way his cedar desk smells. 

His laptop is there, but barely visible under stacks of magazines and copies of _The Paris Review_. There are stacks of old notebooks that Zayn can’t bring himself to get rid of, and sheafs of loose leaf paper with notes he’d taken ages ago.

Meanwhile Niall had bought a brand new desk made out of metal that shines when sunlight filters in through the blinds. He has a new Mac desktop and a fancy stand with organized file folders full of sheet music. His guitar leans against the wall next to the desk. 

The master bedroom is a space for both of them when they want to be together. The second bedroom doesn’t really belong to them, as more and more items of Harry’s clothes seem to have found their way in there. So, the third bedroom/study becomes a space where Zayn and Niall can each retreat when they need to be alone. Because even though Niall is similar to Harry in some ways, he needs his downtime, too. He needs quiet time to concentrate on composing new songs, and despite the fact that Zayn writes about art for a living, songwriting isn’t something he frequently delves into. It’s Niall’s thing, and Zayn leaves him to it.

The two of them had never discussed it, the way they each seem to own one side of this converted study as though an invisible line had been drawn down the middle, the way it’s different from other rooms in the flat. Zayn wonders if maybe they should talk about it, what it means that each side of the room is so different from the other. But it had seemed so natural when they moved in. Of course Niall should have his desk against the one wall, and Zayn should have his at the other side. It’s an easy arrangement, so Zayn lets it go.

+

Zayn might be messy, but he prides himself on being observant.

“Hey, do we have two sets of these dishes with the swirly blue pattern?” He asks Niall, as the two of them are emptying the dishwasher on a long, lazy Sunday.

“Yeah, both your aunt and Harry’s mum bought us that set as wedding gifts.”

“Wow, that’s awfully specific. Do you have perfect memory recall of all our wedding gifts?”

“Yeah.” Niall shrugs. “I made spreadsheets with everyone’s gifts so that we could send thank you notes.”

“Did you really? I thought our mums organized all that.”

Niall throws a dish towel at him. “For someone who’s supposedly some kind of well-respected critic, you really are an idiot,” he says affectionately.

“I’m sorry.” Zayn folds the dish towel on the counter. “You know I hate spreadsheets. Excel gives me an allergic reaction.”

“I know. It disturbs your fragile creative disposition.”

“Oh my god, fuck off,” Zayn laughs. “Creative disposition? Who’s the critic now.”

Niall closes the dishwasher and slides over to stand in front of Zayn, boxing him in against the countertop. “I’ve been married to you for far too long,” he teases. 

Niall presses a light kiss to the corner of Zayn’s mouth. He pulls back for a moment, the two of them just breathing together, and Zayn waits to see what Niall is in the mood for. When Niall leans back in, the kisses are just as light as he gradually works his way toward the cupid’s bow at the center of Zayn’s mouth. Zayn closes his eyes, breathing in the feather light kisses rather than reciprocating just yet. He wants to live in the deliciousness of Niall’s repeated light touches for a moment.

“Oh!” Niall exclaims, pulling all the way back, and it takes Zayn a minute to come back to reality.

“What?” he asks breathlessly, bringing his hands up to grasp at Niall’s hips, hoping this will be a quick conversation. 

“I’ve invited Liam over for dinner on Thursday. I was thinking you could invite your old mate, Louis, as well. Let’s face it, Harry will probably be here already anyway. We don’t even need to bother inviting him.” 

Zayn snorts. “Too accurate. Hmm,” he pauses, considering Niall. “Hosting our first dinner party, are we?”

“I just thought, I’ve been working with Liam so much lately, and you get along well with him. Why not try introducing him to some of our other friends? Make a group of it? Plus we’ll have an excuse to use all these nice dishes with the swirly blue pattern.”

“You’re full of practical ideas,” Zayn laughs. He pulls absent-mindedly at Niall’s belt loops as something occurs to him. He has to ask it carefully. “You really think Liam will get along with either Harry or Louis?”

Niall smiles with one corner of his mouth turned up, a devious glint in his eye. “There’s only one way to find out.”

“Darling,” Zayn teases. “Under this perfect homemaker veneer, you have a little wild streak. You want to see chaos. You do.”

“And underneath all your arty pretensions, you,” Niall pokes Zayn in the chest for emphasis, “are just a domestic sap.”

“Ouch!” Zayn puts a hand to his chest, pretending like he’s hurt, but Niall just laughs at him.

“Louis is a fucking lunatic,” Niall declares. “But he’s a good friend. Harry has his weird charms, and Liam is just a really decent guy to hang out with.”

Zayn gives a small smile and leans further into Niall, creating their own little space in the kitchen. “You want a little married group of friends, don’t you? That’s what this is about.”

“Well, we’re the only married ones, as far as I know. But don’t count Harry out. He could be secretly married, you never know. And, come to think of it, Liam would be a dark horse.”

Zayn surges forward, shutting Niall up the best way he knows how. He fits their mouths together, and can feel the light vibration as Niall laughs against his lips before sinking into it. 

+

“Hey!” Niall swats the back of Zayn’s head with a magazine. “I’m going to look up recipes, can you make sure we have enough alcohol for Thursday? If we’re out of something, buy whatever you think those idiots will like.”

“Hey, yourself,” Zayn grabs for the magazine to hit Niall back, and Niall lets him take it. Zayn frowns. Niall’s not playing, not putting up a fight, he must be really fixated on this dinner party. “What are you going to cook for us, then?”

“I’m not sure yet. I think I’m a pretty decent cook, but Harry’s better, and he’ll be critical. Plus I’ve got you, and it’s your bloody job to be a critic.”

“Not food though,” Zayns reminds him gently. “You could ask Harry to help if you’re feeling overwhelmed about it.”

“Nah,” Niall waves a hand. “I want to do this.”

“Okay.” Zayn isn’t going to push. “I’m pretty useless in the kitchen, but I’m here to help if you need.”

“I know.” Niall gives a wry smile. “That’s why I’m putting you on bartending duty. Can you just come up with enough booze to keep the three of them distracted? And make us look classy, you know, with some good stuff.”

“We’re always classy,” Zayn jokes, reaching for his notebook to start a list. “And what about you?” He asks with an arched eyebrow. “What will you need to keep you distracted?”

Niall tilts his head, a little smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “I think the two of us can go over that later. You’ll need to do a different kind of note-taking.” Niall motions to Zayn’s notebook and winks. 

Then he disappears into their study, Zayn knows, to concentrate on his own for a little while.

Zayn shifts on the sofa. He can’t help imagining skimming a finger across the bare skin of Niall’s chest. Zayn imagines tracing out letters, hitting on the exact combination, the right word, to elicit a delicious, helpless moan from Niall. Then Zayn shakes his head, has to adjust himself, and set his notebook down on top of his lap, giving it his full attention.

Classiness immediately implies wine and Zayn taps his pen against the blank notebook page, trying to summon his small amount of wine knowledge. A red Bordeaux blend might do for Harry, who tends to like anything that’s been barrel-aged. And for Louis as well, who likes to start out the night in style. But Zayn also writes _check Tesco, inexpensive!!!!_ for him because, by the end of the night, Louis just likes to be plastered, expensive taste and style be damned.

Zayn knows that Liam has a penchant for something bubbly when drinking, and he writes _champagne?_ wondering if they should have a bottle on hand for apéritifs, or if they should stick to red wine only. 

Niall really prefers lager to any type of wine, but Zayn decides not to worry about that as he’ll bring Niall along on the wine shopping adventure in the next couple of days.

Zayn frowns down at his own writing. It’s quite a lot of alcohol for a small gathering, and he wonders, slightly irrationally, if it’s the wrong type of alcohol. Is there proper etiquette as to how much and what kinds of wine to serve at dinner parties? But he reassures himself that probably none of the other guests will know either.

+

Zayn leaves work early on Thursday to come home and help set up for the dinner party. He and Niall have a round dark wood dining table with accompanying chairs (another wedding present) that they rarely use, mostly preferring to eat around the coffee table in the living room where it’s more comfortable. But tonight they’re going to be a real, grown-up married couple with real, grown-up friends, so they clean up the nice dining table. There’s an extra leaf to be added to make the table longer and fit more people.

“It’s kind of an oval now,” Niall observes, as they push the two halves of the table back together. “It’s still round though, I think that’s a good idea. No one’s really sitting at the head, everyone has to socialize equally.”

“Alright, King Arthur,” Zayn laughs.

Niall holds up a hand. “I’m not any kind of king of England. Never of England.”

“This is a very modern adaptation,” Zayn says, waggling his eyebrows. “Where the king of England is actually Irish. And,” Zayn points to himself and does an exaggerated stage whisper, “Guinevere is actually a man.”

“That sounds like the kind of book I’d be interested in reading for school.”

Zayn throws one of their nice cloth napkins at Niall’s head. “Delinquent.”

Niall pulls an offended face and puts on a formal accent, which must be his approximation of a king-like voice. “Stop throwing things, stop this behavior. Our guests will be scandalized.”

Zayn snorts. “Our guests will join in with this behavior.”

“You’re right.” Niall sighs and his shoulders sag for a moment. The sight makes something constrict in Zayn’s chest. “I don’t know why we’re going to all this effort just to introduce a couple of mutual friends to each other. I just thought it seemed like a nice thing to do.”

Zayn walks around the table to pick up the napkin from where it had fallen on the floor. “I suppose we shouldn’t use this one since it’s been on the floor. Sorry.”

Niall smiles at him and shakes his head, and it’s too fast for Zayn to tell whether or not the smile had reached Niall’s eyes.

+

Harry is the first to arrive, naturally, but Zayn isn’t sure it really counts because he’s only come over to get a sneak peek at what Niall has been cooking. He’s his usual casual trendy self, in a white t-shirt with a plaid overshirt, and skinny jeans with several rips by the knees. Zayn can’t tell if the wear and tear is Harry’s doing, or if he had bought the jeans that way on purpose. The deceptive thing about Harry is that he actually has plenty of money from a trust fund (but he sometimes chooses to spend it in odd ways, in Zayn’s private opinion).

Liam is the next arrival, as punctual as ever. He’s gone for an inoffensively casual look, a button-down plaid shirt, and normal looking jeans that are neither as tight or as distressed as Harry’s. 

Never one to be improper, Liam has come with a bottle of red wine in hand. “I’m not exactly sure what your drink of choice is,” he says to Zayn. “But I thought it would be impolite to arrive empty-handed.” 

“Cheers, we’ll open it with dinner,” Zayn tells him, and then makes for the kitchen, placing it with the other five bottles of various red wines he and Niall had ended up buying because they couldn’t narrow down their choices. They’re either going to end up with a lot of leftover alcohol, or everyone is going to be feeling pretty rough tomorrow. 

Louis arrives about fifteen minutes late, which is typical. He saunters in wearing a crisp white button-down shirt, dark wash jeans, and brown brogues. He’s made an effort tonight. Or, more likely, his girlfriend, Eleanor, advised him what to wear.

“Making sure to be fashionably late, eh?” Zayn asks, punching Louis gently on the shoulder before hauling him in for a hug.

“Listen,” Louis points a finger at Zayn as he pulls back. “The only reason you’re not even later than me is because you insisted on hosting this thing. That was rather clever of you, actually. I have to give you credit.”

“It was Niall’s idea. He knows me well.” Zayn winks at Louis and then drags him into the living room where Harry and Liam are comparing the similarity of their plaid shirts. “Louis,” Zayn raises his voice a little so that Harry and Liam hear him. “I think you’ve met our mate, Harry, once before.”

“Oh yes,” Louis smirks. “You’re Zayn and Niall’s live-in tenant.”

Harry doesn’t seem bothered by the snark. “Yes, they took me on at some point while we were at uni. Little did they know, they’d never be rid of me.”

“Charming,” Zayn deadpans at Harry, but gives him a smile, so that Harry knows he means it.

“And who is this?” Louis asks, folding his arms across his chest and sizing Liam up. 

“This is Liam,” Zayn introduces him. “He works with Niall and, naturally, they’ve become fast friends.”

“Is there anyone on this planet who isn’t Niall’s friend?” Louis asks.

“I’m a bit jealous,” Harry cuts in. “Liam has been taking up an awful lot of Niall’s time lately and it’s unfair.”

Zayn swats Harry’s shoulder. “Unfair to you? What about his husband?”

Liam holds up his hands. “I’m sorry to both of you, I promise I’m not trying to steal Niall away. Songwriting has its busy cycles like any other profession.”

Louis perks up. “Songwriting, eh?”

“Yes,” Liam affirms. “Are you in the business? What is it that you do, Louis?”

“Not in the business, as such,” Louis answers. “But I’m familiar with music, in a way. I teach primary school. Music and Drama.”

Harry throws an arm around Zayn’s shoulder. “I always thought Zayn here would be the teacher.”

“So did I,” Zayn laughs. “But Simon offered me a position at his newspaper. I couldn’t turn down a job offer back then. And, somehow, I haven’t lost it yet.”

Everyone laughs a little bit. Then Zayn extricates himself from the group as subtly as possible, wanting to leave the three of them to get to know each other, and promising to bring a drink back for Louis. 

In the kitchen, Niall’s face is flushed as he stands over a simmering saucepan. Zayn can smell the basil and oregano beginning to waft up as Niall gives the sauce a stir. Zayn walks quietly up behind Niall, wraps a hand around his waist and hooks his chin over Niall’s shoulder.

“Smells so delicious,” he says. “I have to kiss the cook.” And he sneaks a light kiss to Niall’s temple.

“Oi!” Niall cries, elbowing him in the ribs. “Don’t sneak up on the cook, you bastard!”

Zayn falls over to the side laughing, but then leans back in to get another whiff of the sauce. “Can I try a taste?”

“No,” Niall says, but a smile is flickering at the corner of his mouth. “Alright. You have to tell me if it’s shit.”

“It smells amazing, it will taste just as good,” Zayn promises him, and he finds out that he’s right, as Niall lets a spoonful cool for a moment before lifting it to Zayn’s lips.

“How’s it going out there?” Niall asks, waving toward the living room. “Sorry I’ve left you all the hosting duties, but this is almost finished up.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Zayn tells him, brushing a patch of hair away from Niall’s forehead where it’s starting to wilt from all the steam. “It’s alright, so far. I can’t tell what kind of mood Louis is in yet. I’m supposed to be fixing him a drink.”

“Should you make it a strong one, or light to start?” 

Zayn peeks around the corner of the door out into the living room. The three of them are still standing, but Louis’ back is to Zayn. “That’s the thing,” he answers. “I’m not sure tonight.”

+

Zayn finds sitting formally around the dining room table a bit of an odd experience. Part of it has to do with the fact that he and Niall never eat this formally at home, and part of it has to do with the seating arrangement and the table itself.

A round table with no discernible head position is a good idea in theory, but it’s becoming a bit strange in practice. Niall takes the seat closest to the kitchen. Zayn wants to be near him, both to help Niall, and to set himself at ease. But Liam snags a seat in between Niall and Zayn. Harry sits at Zayn’s other side, leaving Louis to sit at the most distant seat. Zayn has the sinking feeling that, despite the round table, none of them are quite equals in this arrangement.

“Harry,” Louis starts in with an affected, honeyed voice. “You must tell us more about what you do. Liam and I have been very rudely going on and on about ourselves. We can’t leave you to be the enigmatic one.”

“I don’t ramble on and on!” Liam protests, but turns toward Harry anyway, clearly curious about Harry’s answer.

“I’m happy to tell you, but it isn’t very exciting,” Harry warns. 

“Trying out modesty, Styles?” Niall laughs at him. “Not the most convincing on you.” 

Harry casually flips Niall off before explaining. “I’m a bit of a professional student. I’ve been doing post-graduate work for about three years now. I should be finishing up soon, but I’m dragging my feet about it a bit. I’m not so sure about teaching.”

Louis takes a stab at his helping of frisée salad. “Not sure about teaching?”

“No offense!” Harry laughs, wanting to smooth it over, but Louis is looking at him with narrowed eyes. Zayn instinctively looks to Niall, and the two of them share a rather helpless look while Harry continues. “It’s just that I’m not sure what I want to do in general. I’m not really cut out for a job with a strict schedule. I like to set my own hours, have a bit of freedom.”

“But that can be part of the nice thing about working,” Liam cuts in. “It can be really satisfying, keeping up with all of it on a daily basis.”

“Liam is married to his job,” Niall jokes, clapping Liam on the back, trying to ease the web of brittle tension that’s sprung up around the table.

“I keep telling you,” Zayn says, leaning over to Harry. “You should try freelancing. Simon is always hiring various freelancers and independent contractors to do a little bit of work.”

“Maybe,” Harry says with a smile. “Maybe I’ll steal your job someday.”

“I’m sure you will, traitor.”

“So,” Louis cuts in, because apparently he’s only just getting started. Louis twirls linguine around on his fork, and Zayn is sure that if he had a mustache, he’d be twirling that as well. “Sorry, I’m just trying to sort this out in my mind. So, Harry here doesn’t really have a taste for working. Don’t worry, that’s something I can understand. But it sounds like you’re not sure about school either?” Harry gives a shrug like he’s determined to be casual. Louis’ mouth twists. “And I’m trying to figure out your living situation. What is it, you just kind of crash with Zayn and Niall whenever you feel like? Awfully convenient.”

“Louis,” Niall intones, setting his fork down with a clatter, a warning edge to his voice.

“More wine!” Zayn cries, standing up so quickly that his chair makes a screeching noise against the floor. “We’ve finished Liam’s lovely bottle. Louis, help me in the kitchen, yeah?”

Louis can’t very well refuse so he ambles into the kitchen behind Zayn, his body appearing relaxed, but his eyes shining and alert. 

“So,” Zayn starts casually, not wanting to provoke Louis too much, as he surveys the various wine bottles to choose from. “How’s Eleanor? You haven’t mentioned her tonight.”

“El’s great,” Louis says, leaning against the counter. “She just got a promotion, actually. She’s now Director of Development at her policy firm.”

“That’s quite the fancy title.”

“It is, and it’s brilliant for her. She’s really happy.” 

All of the edges on Louis’ face seem to soften as he smiles when talking about Eleanor. Zayn tilts his head, silently considering his friend. He hasn’t been able to get a read on Louis all night, and if romantic troubles aren’t the root of Louis’ current problem, Zayn isn’t sure what it could be.

“I hope you’re both happy,” is what Zayn settles on saying. “We haven’t really had a chance to talk tonight, just the two of us. It’s more difficult to keep in touch now that we don’t live next door to each other, but I’m always thinking of you. No matter what’s going on.”

Louis mimes throwing up into the sink. “You’re a disgusting sap. Besides, I’d tell you if things weren’t going well.”

“Would you?” Zayn asks, wine bottle in hand. He tilts it, pointing the neck of the bottle at Louis like a sword. 

Louis grabs the bottle from his hand. “Come on, you. Our gourmet dinner will be getting cold.”

As the two of them make their way back to their seats, Zayn lets Louis keep the wine and doesn’t bother to make sure that he passes it around for everyone. He’s too distracted by Liam and Harry’s conversation. It’s a bit of a disagreement by the sound of it.

“I never did all that well in school, so I’m a bit biased,” Liam is saying. “But I feel like it’s so much more rewarding to be working out in the real world. You learn from your own mistakes and improve at your job.”

“But isn’t that exactly what schoolwork is?” Harry replies. “You improve your scope of knowledge and then actually get the chance to prove it with an exam or an essay.”

“Yes, but you can apply your knowledge in the real world and actually get paid for it.”

Harry sits back in his seat, crossing his arms. “Money isn’t important to me,” he sniffs.

Liam unconsciously mirrors Harry’s defensive position, like they’re having a stand-off. “That’s the kind of thing that people who already have money always say.”

Zayn looks over to Niall, seeking help or commiseration or something. But Niall is helping himself to another plate of pasta, not looking around the table. Zayn balls his hands into fists, trying to keep calm. He wishes he and Niall were sitting at the head and the foot of the table, easily able to catch each other’s eye. King Arthur’s table is _rubbish_. This whole evening is rubbish.

Louis starts speaking and Zayn closes his eyes for a moment, as though that will block out his words.

“How interesting that Liam and Harry seem to be at odds.” His crooked smile indicates that he’s positively delighted about it. “The really intriguing thing to me is that they’re both somehow friends with Niall.” Zayn’s head snaps up at the mention of Niall. “Tell us Niall,” Louis urges. “How do you manage to be friends with such opposite types of people?”

“I’m friends with a lot of different people, Louis,” Niall says. His voice is steady, but a flush is starting to spread across his cheeks and down to his neck. “I’m even friends with you, god knows why.”

“That you are,” Louis laughs. “I’m touched.”

“You should be,” Niall retorts and it sounds like a threat.

“Oooh,” Louis leans closer to Niall as though absolutely thrilled with how this is going. “Does it get you worked up, Niall? Having all these people in your life?”

Zayn stares at Louis, his breath now coming in quicker and quicker gasps as his mind races to process what’s been going on. It wasn’t that Louis simply wanted to tear Harry down, or play Harry and Liam against each other, although both of those things were surely bonuses. His endgame all along was to reach Niall. Louis and Niall hadn’t really spoken all night, and perhaps this was purposeful on Louis’ part. Zayn starts to push his chair back again, because the only possible reason Louis can have for going after Niall is to provoke him.

“How careless of me,” Zayn says, making his way around the table to Louis’ seat. “Louis, I left you with the bottle of wine without serving you.”

Louis actually looks a little bit thrown, like he didn’t expect Zayn to intercede so quickly. Zayn takes full advantage of a momentarily speechless Louis to seize his wine glass and the wine bottle.

“Niall has been so busy setting everything up and doing the cooking. He left me on bartending duty, but, as you can see, I’ve been neglecting my job. Let me fix that and give you a hand here.” 

Zayn turns to smile widely at Harry and Liam while he pours a generous glass for Louis. As he turns back to face Louis, he deliberately tilts his hand, and red wine inevitably spills out of the too-full glass.

Louis jumps out of his seat with a yelp, a stain already blooming across his immaculate white shirt. 

“Like I said,” Zayn grits out between his teeth. “So careless of me.”

“My shirt!” Louis cries, stricken.

“Let me help,” comes another voice. Zayn looks up and is surprised to see Niall walking over and taking Louis by the arm. “Come on, let’s take care of this before the stain sets. In the meantime, Zayn will find you a clean shirt to wear.” Niall gives Zayn a pointed look over Louis’ shoulder as the two of them disappear into the kitchen.

Zayn stands motionless, rooted to the spot. It’s a moment before he realizes he’s still holding the wine bottle and the glass. He turns to set them both down on the table and gives a start—he’d forgotten that Harry and Liam are still there.

Liam clears his throat before pushing his chair back. “I’d actually better get going. Early start tomorrow and all that.”

“Liam,” Zayn begins, but he has no idea what to say, how to apologize for so many things gone wrong.

“It’s alright,” Liam interrupts him, shaking his head. “Thank you so much for dinner. Please tell Niall that it was great. I’ll see myself out, don’t worry.” Liam practically runs out of the dining room, and Zayn can’t blame him.

Harry stands up and lets out a whistle. “Some night, eh?”

“Yeah,” Zayn snorts. “Is it over yet? I’d rather we never speak of this again.”

Harry strokes a hand over Zayn’s back. “Anything for you.” He gives a little squeeze to Zayn’s shoulder to let him know that he means it. “I’d better get going myself. I should probably go sort my life out or something instead of infringing any more on your kindness.”

“You can infringe anytime,” Zayn feels he should emphasize, considering some of the earlier conversation.

Harry nods. “Another time, and I will.”

Then Zayn is alone in the dining room, an empty round table before him. He can hear water running in the kitchen and the hum of Niall speaking in a quiet voice. There’s no sound from Louis. 

Zayn goes to dig out a clean t-shirt for Louis to wear. He tosses it over the back of one of the dining chairs where it will be seen, then he shuts himself up in the study, rooting around in his desk for his notebook. Several minutes later Zayn still hasn’t found it. He’s tossing piles of loose leaf on the floor and muttering to himself when there’s a knock at the door.

“Looking for this?” Niall asks, stepping into the room and holding up his notebook.

“Oh.” Zayn stands up straight. “Yeah.”

“It was on the coffee table. I figured you were probably tearing apart your desk looking for it.”

“Thanks,” Zayn nods, as he crosses over toward Niall and takes the notebook. “Is Louis gone, then?”

“Yeah, I sent him home. His shirt isn’t too damaged. I’ll take it to the dry cleaners tomorrow and hopefully they’ll be able to clean it up, good as new.”

“What?” Zayn cries. “Why are you taking it to the dry cleaners? That’s completely unnecessary.”

Niall’s mouth sets into a thin line. “Louis was our guest, Zayn. Of course it’s necessary.”

“He was being a massive dick. You don’t owe him politeness, or anything at all.”

“He was being a dick, but you spilled a drink on him. On purpose.” Niall narrows his eyes like he’s taking aim at something. “Maybe think about what you owe him.”

Zayn gapes at his husband. “I don’t understand. You wanted this. This entire thing was your idea, and you knew it might not go smoothly.”

Niall takes a deep breath as though summoning the patience he needs to explain things to Zayn. “It’s true, I didn’t know how Louis, Liam, and Harry would get along. But I thought it would be okay as long as we invited them over to our home, where we could manage and control things. I didn’t count on you being out of control.”

“Louis was going after you, Niall!” Zayn shouts now, losing all semblance of cool. “It wasn’t about Harry or Liam. I don’t know what he was going to say, but he was going to insult you somehow, I know it. I know Louis.”

“So, what? That was your way of defending me?” Niall shouts back, his face red, his eyes incandescently bright. He has a point to prove to Zayn and he’s positively burning with it. “If that’s your way of helping your husband, I don’t want it. Don’t you see that it only created more work for me?”

“I couldn’t think of anything else to do,” Zayn says, quiet now. He feels paralyzed with helplessness. “You didn’t have to clean his shirt.”

“You’re right,” Niall says. His voice is shaking as though it’s an almighty effort to hold himself together and he’s crumbling. “You really don’t understand this situation. And that isn’t like you.”

Niall marches out of the room shutting the door behind him. Zayn remains alone, fuming in silence for a few minutes. He recovers himself enough to sit down and open his notebook. He picks out a pen with angry red ink, feeling like it’s especially appropriate at the moment.

But when Zayn sets his mind to writing tonight, he comes up blank. He stares at the page in front of him and doesn’t know how to fill it. Zayn is out of words.

+

When Zayn’s alarm goes off the next morning, he hits the snooze button without even hesitating, without even really waking up. When the alarm goes off again exactly seven minutes later, there’s a grumble from the other side of the bed that wakes him up more efficiently than any alarm.

“Shit,” Zayn croaks, his voice sleep-raspy and barely audible over the blaring alarm, which he finally shuts off.

By the time Zayn fully opens his eyes, he sees that Niall is already sitting up, covers thrown off of his body. He’s hunched in on himself and cradling his head in his hands.

“You alright?” Zayn asks, pulling himself out of bed and fumbling around for his iPhone.

“Fucking massive headache,” Niall groans. 

Ordinarily Zayn might sit with Niall for a bit until he felt better, holding him, or just being there with him. But Niall actually hadn’t had that much to drink last night. He had been too busy cooking, and then later he was busy being upset with Zayn. If he has a headache this morning, it’s from leftover tension, not from alcohol. 

So Zayn settles for a mildly sympathetic “That sucks, babe,” and disappears into the bathroom.

The steam from the hot shower fills the small room. As Zayn wipes away the condensation from the mirror to look at his reflection, he’s determined to erase any weirdness from last night. It happened, there’s nothing anyone can do to change it, and, in the end, he’s still going to be some degree of friends with Liam, Harry, and Louis. And he’s still married to Niall. Surely it’s better to just move on from the whole thing. 

Zayn wraps his towel around his waist and opens the bathroom door. “Hey,” he calls to Niall, who’s standing in front of the closet. “Want me to stop at the pharmacy and pick up some more Nurofen for you? I can drop off the dry cleaning as well.”

“Nah,” Niall waves a hand. “Don’t you have that interview this morning? I can take care of it.”

“Oh, fuck.” Now it’s Zayn turn to hold his head in his hands. 

Simon has scheduled him to do an interview with some big-name producer from the BBC. There’s a prestige period piece debuting soon, and while Zayn would prefer to simply write a one-off critical review of the whole piece, Simon has assigned him a little bit of promotional work as well.

Niall turns to really take in Zayn for the first time that morning. He looks Zayn up and down, his jaw set, and his eyes appear cold, although maybe Zayn is imagining that. “Thanks for offering though,” he says in a clipped sort of voice, and then leaves the bedroom.

Zayn heaves a sigh and leans against the doorframe. Perhaps it isn’t as easy to move on as he had thought.

+

The interview does not go well. Zayn is distracted enough as it is, and it doesn’t help that this particular producer is rather more interested in listing his own personal accomplishments than answering the questions Zayn poses. 

Zayn ends the interview as tactfully as he can, gives a tight-lipped smile as he shakes hands with the man, and heads back to his own office.

It’s already past midday by now, with Friday afternoon and the weekend stretching before Zayn like a question. He and Niall have certainly fought before and had weekends go sour, but there’s something slightly different about this time that has Zayn unsure as to how to navigate it. So, he doesn’t. 

Zayn stays at work as late as he can feasibly get away with, ordering dinner in. He stays until his office light is the only sign of life on the entire floor. He emails a draft of his piece to Simon, figuring that Simon is away on some fancy golf holiday and won’t even glance at it until Monday morning. Then Zayn shuts off his office light with a click and winds his way home in the dark.

+

Niall is talkative that night, but not about anything that really matters. 

“Cheryl Cole was on Graham Norton earlier,” he chats, as they’re both sat in bed, the light from the television flickering over them. “She’s going on tour again. We should go, I’m positive I can snag tickets through work.”

“Sure,” Zayn agrees nonchalantly. “Love a bit of Cheryl.” Maybe they can do this, be casual and friendly. Not make everything into an argument.

They fall asleep, each of them on their own separate sides of the bed. Zayn wakes up at half past four in the morning to find that the telly is still on and the two of them are still apart. He flicks the remote to turn off the television and lies back down, looking over at Niall. He’s sleeping on his side, his back toward Zayn.

+

“How’s your head?” Zayn asks the next day.

Niall is tearing the newspaper apart looking for the sports section. He pauses as though he really has to think about it. “Alright,” he settles on, eventually. 

Zayn can’t help rolling his eyes. “I just hoped you were feeling better, that’s all.”

“I’m alright,” Niall says. It doesn’t sound like the truth.

Niall is sitting on the sofa, but he looks defensive. His shoulders are high and tense. Zayn wants to sit down next to him, caress his neck, move his hands down across Niall’s shoulders, and smooth all that tension out. But something about Niall at the moment seems to forbid that kind of intimacy, so Zayn remains standing.

“You’ve been sort of not yourself,” Zayn tries speaking. He’s usually rubbish at articulating himself out loud, but apparently he’s rubbish at articulating himself through writing at the moment too. He might as well try. “Well, you’ve been tense since Thursday.”

Niall drops his head, looking at his knees for a second. When he looks back up his eyes look dimmed somehow, muted. “Liam called off work yesterday,” he says. Zayn inhales sharply as he understands the impact of what Niall is saying. “And Harry hasn’t responded to any of my texts since that night.”

“Shit. I haven’t even tried contacting Louis. I’m sure I’m the last person he wants to hear from right now.”

Niall stands up. “Louis will forgive you once he’s cooled off. He’s your oldest friend, and that’s what old friends do.” Niall takes a step toward Zayn now, and Zayn has the feeling he’s being cornered. When Niall continues speaking, it’s in a deliberate tone. “But, this involved some of our newer friends, and one of my colleagues, too.”

Zayn narrows his eyes. “Your tone, darling,” and he’s awfully close to snarling, suddenly desperately angry. “Do you have something you’d like to say to me? Go on and say it. I’m sure it will make your head feel better.” 

Niall’s eyes spark now. “Fine!” he shouts. “You fucked it up, Zayn. I told you on Thursday night that you fucked up, and you still can’t get it through your head. And you haven’t apologized.”

“I haven’t apologized because I have nothing to apologize for!” Zayn insists. “Let me remind you that I told _you_ , the entire dinner party was your idea. I think that’s why you’re so pissed off. Just own up to it, Niall. It was your mistake.”

Niall moves swiftly towards Zayn now, getting up in his space, and pushing him back into the wall. “You have got to be the dumbest smart person I’ve ever met,” he says like he’s breathing fire, and maybe he is because he now has Zayn’s undivided attention.

“So I’m too stupid for you now? That’s awfully fucking rich.”

“Not stupid, just unobservant,” Niall retorts.

“That is _not_ true!”

Zayn is genuinely offended now, but he doesn’t have the opportunity to complain because Niall is kissing him. He’s kissing _hard_ , teeth clacking, and Zayn feels like his whole skull is rattling with the energy, and the tension, and with Niall himself.

Zayn moves his hands up to touch Niall in the way that he had wanted to earlier. He runs his hands over Niall’s shoulders, and Niall stills for a moment. Zayn pulls away, and moves in to press a kiss to Niall’s neck. Niall arches back to give Zayn more room, but Zayn pulls back to observe his handiwork. The red mark on Niall’s neck is light, too light.

Niall has always said that he would never get a tattoo because his skin is too sensitive. It’s not something that Zayn, with a sleeve stretching down his arm, can really relate to, and he’s curious. He presses one experimental finger down on Niall’s neck, watching his skin change colors, going from white-hot to red. Niall hisses. Zayn looks him in the eye and smirks. Well, Niall had asked him to be more observant. 

This time Zayn goes in with more intent, lapping at the skin of Niall’s neck with his tongue and then sucking until he knows it will leave a bruise. The way Niall clutches at Zayn’s back tells him that Niall is losing his balance. Zayn pulls off and just buries his face in Niall’s neck, inhaling his unshowered morning smell. They sway together on the spot for a moment, holding each other, and then Niall rights himself. 

The way Niall looks at Zayn now has something sinking in the pit of Zayn’s stomach that’s both arousal and the realization that maybe Niall was right. Because Niall is now in control. He pulls Zayn’s shirt over his head, and turns Zayn’s body so that he’s facing the wall. It’s a lot to process, and Zayn really hadn’t seen this coming. Although maybe he should have the moment Niall’s eyes had sparked. He hadn’t been able to discover the source of Louis’ problem the other night, and he hasn’t been able to understand Niall since, but Niall understands him.

Niall, whose breath is hot against the back of Zayn’s neck, with one hand grasping Zayn’s hip, and the other roaming across his chest and down his stomach. Niall, who doesn’t want to look him in the face, but is reaching inside his pants to grasp Zayn’s cock. Niall, to whom Zayn is married, and to whom he cedes control right now.

They’ve had sex all different ways and for all different kinds of reasons. On their honeymoon it was lazy and endless, they took the time to really look into each other’s eyes as their bodies moved together. They took it slow because they’d just been married, meaning they had all the time in the world for sex, and for everything else, too.

Sometimes it’s Niall hopping into the shower with Zayn in the morning, like _let’s wank each other off_ and _pass me some of that shampoo, will you? I’m about to be late for work_. 

They’d fought before, of course, and the make up sex was always nice. But it’s never been quite like this. It’s never been Zayn refusing to apologize. It’s never been this cold kind of intimacy. 

That isn’t to say that it doesn’t feel good. Zayn braces himself against the wall with his hands, trying to stay upright, and Niall supports him as best he can. Zayn is close to coming already, his eyes fluttering open and shut, as Niall works over his cock. And with Niall pressed up against his back, Zayn isn’t so unobservant as to miss how hard he is. The tension between them over the past day or so has been new, and strange, and miserable, but it’s resulted in this, and this feels _good_.

With that, Zayn lets his head loll back onto Niall’s shoulder as he comes all over Niall’s hand and his own stomach.

“Shit, hope none of that hit the wall,” Niall says, tracing a finger through the mess on Zayn’s stomach.

“We’ll paint over it,” Zayn murmurs as he tries to regain his breath.

When Zayn feels like he’s conscious again, he stands all the way up and Niall lets go of him. He wavers, feeling unmoored and uneasy on his feet without Niall’s support. And then there’s the quickly drying and uncomfortable mess to be taken care of (Zayn’s glad he hadn’t yet taken a shower today). But there’s Niall to take care of too, and Zayn turns, automatically reaching out a hand to grasp Niall’s hip.

Niall holds up a hand to stop Zayn from coming any nearer and Zayn stops instantly. He’s struck silent and still as Niall turns to the side, turning unmistakably inward away from Zayn, and wanks himself off. 

This is new, too. Zayn being shut out. He had never thought that sex could be used as a method of pushing the other person away, but, then, Zayn is learning an awful lot of new things this morning.

+

 

Zayn is still lounging in bed at eleven on Sunday morning (like any normal person should be, he thinks), although Niall had gotten up about an hour ago. When Zayn’s mobile goes off just then, he rolls over with an irritated groan, which quickly turns to panic, when he sees that the call is from his boss, of all people.

“I’m headed into the office,” Zayn tells Niall as he stumbles his way toward the front door, attempting to step into his shoes and walk at the same time. “Simon has called me in. I have no idea when I’ll be back.”

“Good luck!” Niall calls to him, from where he’s spread out on the sofa.

Zayn arrives at the offices to find Simon already waiting. He’s leaning against Zayn’s desk, a stack of paper in one hand. It’s a print-out of the draft he had submitted, and, Zayn realizes with a sinking feeling in his stomach, that there are red marks all over it.

Simon notices Zayn’s gaze. “I began correcting your piece,” he says. “I was going to return the edits to you, but...” Simon shrugs, and dumps the paper in the bin by Zayn’s desk.

Zayn winces. “It couldn’t have been that bad.”

“No. But I don’t want you to work from corrections. I want you to rewrite the piece.”

Zayn squares his shoulders. “Simon, I respect your decision to put me on this job, but I really think I should stick to critical writing. I won’t do a fluff piece for promotional purposes, I don’t care what kind of famous producers or actors are involved.”

“Zayn,” Simon looks him in the eye. “I would never want you to write an empty, fluff piece. I assigned you this because I knew you could cover the hoopla surrounding such a big project with a keen eye. I’m afraid the problem with this draft is your criticism. Your insights aren’t as sharp as usual. Unfortunately, this reads as more empty than substantial. I noticed, and readers will notice, too.”

Zayn wants to sit down, but Simon is blocking his chair. He sways on his feet for a second. He’s been sapped of his mental energy lately, sapped of words entirely. But he could never explain that to Simon. And anyway, Zayn doesn’t usually make excuses.

“Oh. I didn’t realize.” He bows his head, speaking robotically. “I worked on that draft in one day. I didn’t have anyone else proof it. It was careless work by me.”

Simon steps toward Zayn now, his face taking on an almost gentle look. This has the result of making Zayn feel worse because Simon only reserves emotions like concern for dire circumstances. 

“Is everything alright?” he asks. “In other areas of your life, I mean. You don’t look like yourself today. You look a bit…” Simon pauses and then throws up hands up like he’s finished with tactfulness. “Well, you look a bit shit.”

“It’s noon on a Sunday!” Zayn explodes. “Does anyone look put together right now?”

Simon raises an eyebrow that seems to indicate himself. And it’s true, in his permanent uniform of white tees paired with blazers, he’s managed to cultivate the exact balance between casual and authoritative. Zayn wants to stomp his feet. 

Instead, he takes a deep breath and answers like an adult. “It’s nothing that can’t be taken care of.”

Simon gives him a measured, piercing stare. “Write another version of the piece,” he instructs, after a pause. “Then rewrite it again. Then submit it to me.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Don’t worry about having other people proof it right now. Trust yourself. Revising and rewriting are the most important parts of the writing process. It’s where you really figure out what you’re trying to say.” Zayn nods, and Simon sets a hand on his shoulder. “So, figure it out.”

He says it like it’s so easy.

+

Zayn makes his way up to Louis and Eleanor’s flat, a dry cleaning bag slung over his shoulder.

“Special delivery,” Zayn says when Louis opens the door. “I’m in possession of one perfectly restored white shirt, which I think belongs to you.”

Louis rolls his eyes so that the smile pulling at the corners of his mouth doesn’t break wide open. “Come inside, you loser.”

Once inside, Zayn is relieved to discover that Eleanor is out, as he and Louis need some time alone to settle back into being friends again. In the privacy of his own home Louis is as casual as ever, dressed simply in flannel pajama pants and a t-shirt. He could be fifteen years old again, letting Zayn in through the back door of his house, the two of them giggling as they sneak some of the brownies Louis’ mum had been baking.

“Huh,” Louis examines his newly-cleaned white shirt. “It really does look good as new. Impressive.”

“I’m sorry,” Zayn says, and he finds that it’s easy to mean it.

Louis touches a hand to Zayn’s cheek and they lock eyes for a moment. Then Louis gives a pinch, and Zayn wriggles away. “I deserved it.” Louis says after a moment. “Or I deserved something similar, at least.”

“No,” Zayn counters. “Niall keeps telling me, and I know now that he’s right, it’s inappropriate to purposefully spill any kind of beverage on a guest.”

“Even if that guest is being an arse?”

“Even so.”

Louis goes to hang the shirt up in his closet. When he comes back, he sits down on the living room sofa and motions for Zayn to join him. Zayn sits close to Louis, while still giving him enough of his own private space. He doesn’t push or prod; it’s best to let Louis open up on his own.

“I’m going to ask Eleanor to marry me,” Louis says, all in a rush.

“What?”

“Er, yeah,” Louis gives Zayn an almost sheepish look. “I have a ring picked out and everything. I just have to actually ask her. It’s driving me a bit mad.”

“Are you nervous she’ll say no?” Zayn asks gently. “Because I don’t think you should worry.” 

“I’m worried she’ll say yes,” Louis admits. “I mean, I want to be married. I want to be married to Eleanor, it’s the _only_ thing I want. But at the same time, it’s fucking terrifying. I don’t know how you did this, mate. And going over to your home last week was like looking at the Ghost of Christmas Future. I couldn’t help myself. I couldn’t help picking away at everything, at your drinks and your food, at your guests, at your husband.”

“I noticed.” Zayn says wryly. Then he laughs. “Louis, mate, this is fantastic!”

“I’m scared shitless and you think it’s fantastic. Typical.”

Zayn allows himself just a little bit more laughter at Louis’ expense. Then he slides over into Louis’ space and wraps an arm around his shoulder. Louis falls into it. 

“I love being married,” Zayn says, and he smiles to himself at the simple truth of it. “I love being married to Niall. But, I can’t lie to you, it is hard work. It’s pretty reasonable to be scared about it. And anyway, I’m probably the wrong person to be giving you advice since I haven’t exactly been the best husband myself lately.”

“I don’t believe that for a second.” Louis sits up, considering Zayn with a sharp look. “What’s going on with you?”

“That goddamned dinner party,” Zayn groans. “Niall was upset with me about the wine thing, about everything, really. I didn’t understand where he was coming from, and I didn’t apologize. I still haven’t apologized, just sort of on principle.”

“Stubborn,” Louis says, giving Zayn a gentle flick on the shoulder.

“You’re one to talk,” Zayn grumbles. 

“About the wine incident,” Louis begins after a pause. “Niall was good about it. I was panicking about what I would tell Eleanor. But he was really efficient. He explained everything he was doing to take care of the stain—I think he poured salt on it at one point? Anyway, it was calming, somehow, the narration.” Louis appears lost in the memory of it. “Yeah, Niall was good,” he repeats.

Zayn blinks. “Wow, I wouldn’t have known to do any of that,” he murmurs.

This time it’s Louis’ turn to wrap an arm around Zayn’s shoulder. “Look, if Niall is upset about something, or upset with you, you should listen to him. Because he wouldn’t act like that just for the fun of it, there’s got to be more there.” Louis brings his other hand up to tilt Zayn’s chin, and their eyes lock together. “And because, Zayn, if you’re not listening to him, who is?”

+

Zayn goes straight home after visiting Louis. 

The flat is quiet and Zayn spends a few idle minutes checking through a stack of mail, and then flipping through television channels just to see what’s on. There’s no sign of Niall, except that his keys are sitting on the table in the front hall and the door to the study is closed.

Zayn takes a deep breath, knocks on the study door, and opens it a crack.

“Yeah?” Niall calls. He isn’t at his desk. Instead, he’s standing over by the window, arms crossed, surveying the street below.

Zayn doesn’t respond right away. He closes the door behind him, picks up his notebook from his desk, and joins Niall at the window.

“I just took Louis’ shirt back to him,” he explains.

“Good,” Niall nods without looking at Zayn. “It was good that you did that for him.”

Zayn pauses. “He’s going to ask Eleanor to marry him.”

“What?” Niall swivels around. “Holy shit, that’s great! He hasn’t done it yet?”

“Not yet.”

“She’ll say yes.” Niall nods to himself in certainty and turns back to the window.

Zayn opens his notebook and flips through the pages. “Did you know,” he begins, “that the word husband can be used as a verb?”

Niall turns his head very slowly back to Zayn. 

“It’s like animal husbandry and so forth,” Zayn continues, consulting his notebook. “It means to manage, especially with a prudence or frugality.”

Niall blinks at him.

Zayn tries a different track. “My interview last week didn’t go well. And then I wrote a bad draft. That was why Simon called me in over the weekend, to redo it. The article is going to print tomorrow and…” Zayn gives a shrug. “I don’t know.”

“It’s Simon’s job to be hard on you, Zayn. So don’t go being hard on yourself too. The article will turn out great. It will be exactly what it needs to be.”

“I’m not sure what it needs to be though. I’ve been distracted lately at work, and I’ve been distracted here at home, too. I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing anymore.”

Niall raises his eyebrows. “So, all of this has led you to researching the definition and etymology of the word husband?”

“Yes,” Zayn answers honestly.

Niall doesn’t laugh at him. He gives a nod like that makes perfect sense, and Zayn could kiss him for understanding. He holds himself back though because they haven’t even touched yet since Zayn had come home tonight, and there’s still a lot more to say.

“I was your boyfriend for a long time, Niall. It’s a little bit different being married. It’s a little bit _more_.”

Niall drops his gaze, looking down at his feet. “You’re not the only one who struggles with that,” he says, quietly. “That little bit more.” Zayn takes a small step closer to Niall, and they finally lock eyes. “Marriage is like,” Niall waves a hand around, trying to conjure a definition out of thin air, “a conversation. An on-going conversation.”

Zayn gives a sad little smile. “I’m not always very good at making conversation.”

“And I can do enough talking for the both of us,” Niall says wryly. “But conversation is about listening, too.”

They don’t talk for a moment. They simply look at each other, and the silence between them seems to confirm the importance of this side of the equation, the part where two people are patient and quiet together, considering how to respond to one another.

“The thing I’ve learned about language from writing for a living,” Zayn begins a minute later, “is that it’s constantly evolving. I thought we could use that.” Zayn holds up his notebook. “Simon is always going on about revisions and rewrites. Well, I thought that the definition of ‘husband’ could use some revising.”

“Oh yeah?” Niall looks from Zayn to his notebook and back again as though adding everything up in his head.

Zayn nods. “Yeah.” He uncovers a pen from his desk and hands it over to Niall. “And this revision will need input from both of us.”

“Okay,” Niall gives a slow nod like he’s catching on. “Just like a conversation needs both sides in order to work.”

“Just like that.” Zayn gives a smile, which Niall tentatively returns.

Niall takes the pen and flips to a blank page in Zayn’s notebook. He prints the word _husband_ in his neat handwriting, then pauses. “What did you say the original definition was? Something like managing?”

“Yes, managing or overseeing something, typically the household.”

“And the husband works alone in this?”

Zayn pauses as he thinks. “Yes, it refers to one person. It’s a solitary position.”

“Well,” Niall gives a cheerful smile now. “That won’t work at all, will it?” He leans over the notebook, busy writing. Zayn waits until he’s finished to read the revised definition.

_husband: someone who manages the household by working in close communication with the person to whom he’s married._

Zayn grins at Niall’s use of proper grammar and bites his lip, trying not to tear up, at his thoughtful definition. Without saying anything, he takes the pen from Niall and adds a line just below his definition.

_someone who makes the effort to communicate, encompassing both speaking up and listening when necessary._

Niall’s handwriting is neat, open, and easy to read. Zayn’s is a little more cramped, a little more hurried, as though used to keeping up with the speed of his thoughts. As Zayn looks at the page, he thinks the two styles look good paired together, one line above the other, but both equal.

He looks up at Niall, who is already looking at him. Niall’s eyes look like his handwriting, clear and open, and something in Zayn’s chest expands.

“I’m sorry.” The words spill out of Zayn in a rush. “I’m sorry that I didn’t understand why you were upset at first. I’m sorry I didn’t make an effort to understand it better. I’m sorry for contributing to our dinner party going to shit. I’m sorry I purposely spilled some of our good red wine instead of saving it for drinking.”

Niall smiles at this last apology. “Now,” he wraps a hand around Zayn’s waist, “You really have your apology priorities in order.”

Zayn leans forward, letting their foreheads bump together, and rests there.

“I’m sorry, too,” Niall whispers. “I was being accusatory with you. That wasn’t okay.”

“Shh,” Zayn whispers. “I deserved it.”

“It was scary,” Niall presses on. “When you didn’t seem to understand me. That hasn’t really happened before between us. It felt isolating.”

Zayn brings a hand up to gently cup Niall’s chin. “I don’t ever want you to feel alone in this marriage.”

“Neither of us should feel that way.”

Zayn surges forward and Niall is right there to meet him. The kiss is a promise and an affirmation. It’s Zayn running his tongue along Niall’s lip, and Niall opening to it like he’s never been quite so happy to be kissing Zayn. 

“Hey,” Zayn says it half into the corner of Niall’s mouth. “I didn’t get to…” He runs a hand down Niall’s stomach. “Last time, you didn’t let me.”

Niall pulls away with a little gasp as Zayn’s hand cups his dick, and he realizes what Zayn means. “I was angry then.”

“You had every reason to be. But you’re not anymore, right?” Zayn starts moving his hand very slowly in a circular motion. 

“Zayn,” Niall shrugs like he’s embarrassed. “You don’t have to.”

Zayn sinks to his knees, but doesn’t break eye contact. “I want to. Will you let me now?”

Niall makes a sound that’s half laughter, half moan. He looks around the room as though there are other people who might see. He looks at the window for a second. He closes the blinds and Zayn, taking it as a sign, begins pulling at Niall’s trousers. 

Niall stumbles slightly forward as Zayn pulls his trousers down around his knees, and he places a hand on Zayn’s head to steady himself. He strokes his fingers through Zayn’s hair, and it’s gentle, almost too gentle for the urgency Zayn is feeling.

Zayn doesn’t remove Niall’s boxers yet. Instead he leans in, pressing his face to Niall’s crotch and mouthing at his dick, can practically taste Niall through the thin cloth. Niall whines now and closes his fingers more tightly around Zayn’s hair. It’s still not quite enough though. They’re not quite on the same page yet.

Zayn pulls back, looking up at Niall, not in a flirtatious way, but in earnest. “I want this. I want _you_ ,” he emphasizes. “I want to be the one to do this for you, always.” 

He hopes he’s communicating this properly to Niall. Because Niall had felt alone, solitary, in their little arrangement of two, and that’s not okay. But Zayn had felt it, too. Zayn had stood uselessly by while his husband got himself off. And so, he needs to communicate to Niall that sex can be a conversation between them, just like everything else.

“Zayn,” Niall starts, and then he gives a funny little smile. Zayn is glad to see it, glad that there are very few situations that prevent Niall from smiling. “I want you, I want this. Zayn, _yes_ , please.” 

It’s Zayn’s turn to smile at this. And then there’s no time for flirting or teasing at all. Niall grips at Zayn’s scalp until his fingernails are digging into the skin, and he’s whining in an endless, incoherent stream. Zayn loves it, he loves everything about it, as he swallows Niall all the way down.

+

Zayn’s article goes to print on Wednesday. Zayn mostly ignores it, focusing on his current assignment. But during the afternoon, Simon walks by Zayn’s office. He stops in the doorway, quietly looking in. Zayn stops typing and waits for Simon to say whatever is on his mind. He’s expecting a curt reprimand, or some variation of _this was alright but do better next time_.

Instead, Simon simply gives him a crisp little nod and walks away. Zayn sits quietly, taking a moment for himself before going back to his work. He’s never gotten a nod from Simon before. It feels like high praise, and it’s all the more sweet for being so hard-won.

+

There’s one more revision to be made.

Harry is the first to arrive, naturally. He’s weighed down with two bags of Thai takeaway. He goes to set everything up on the dining table, but Niall guides him towards the living room instead.

“Actually, Zayn and I talked, and we thought we’d all just hang out in here this time.”

“Cool.” Harry gives a friendly shrug, respecting their decisions.

Liam is next, prompt as always. He looks a bit bashful, his eyebrows pulled low, as Zayn opens the door to him.

“I come bearing gifts,” he says, holding out two boxes.

Zayn grins. “Pizza will get you everywhere in this household,” he says, waving Liam and his pizza inside.

Louis is last, and arrives with several brown paper bags. He’s brought the booze.

“Zayn gave me the same instructions Niall gave him the first time around,” he announces, unpacking the bags on the now very crowded coffee table. “Which was to be classy. So, we have one bottle of champagne, some white wine, and lots of vodka. I thought we’d better go for clear liquids this time,” he says with a wink at Zayn.

Harry examines the champagne bottle. “Alright if I put this in the fridge to chill?” Niall gives him a nod. “Hmm, maybe we can whip up some cocktails with all of this?”

“What do you have in mind?” Niall asks him.

“Let me go investigate what else you have,” Harry says, waggling his eyebrows, and taking the champagne and white bottle bottles with him.

Liam is trying to organize the food so that it doesn’t fall off the table. “Do you have napkins or silverware?” he asks.

“I’ll show you,” Niall says, leading him towards the kitchen. “God knows what Harry’s up to in there, he’s probably moved everything around.”

Zayn sidles up to Louis. “So,” he begins, nudging Louis in the ribs with his elbow. “Celebrating anything in particular tonight?”

“What?” Louis asks, but he’s distracted as he’s peeking inside the pizza boxes to see what toppings Liam had ordered. “You and Niall were the ones who invited us over, I don’t know what we would be celebrating. Maybe the fact that we didn’t all kill each other the first time we met?”

Zayn nudges Louis harder. “I mean, is there a reason you brought champagne specifically?”

“Oh!” Louis stands up straight. “Oh, you mean…” Louis goes very quiet. He doesn’t nudge Zayn back, and for one terrible second Zayn is certain that Eleanor said no, or that she said she needed time to think about it. Then Louis smiles, small, and just to himself before looking at Zayn. “Yes, Eleanor and I are engaged.”

“You bastard!” Zayn cries, clapping Louis on the back. “Why didn’t you tell me right away?”

“It just happened last night!” Louis laughs as Zayn pulls him into a hug. “I knew I’d see you today, so I waited rather than texting you.”

“What’s this?” Niall asks, walking back into the living room with silverware and a stack of napkins. “Oh my god.” He raises his eyebrows as he takes in Louis’ smiling face. “You have news?”

“Yeah,” Louis nods. “Good news, luckily.”

“The best news,” Niall corrects. “Congratulations!” He cries, and then launches himself at Louis, planting a smacking kiss on his cheek.

“Zayn!” Louis yells, pretending like he’s pushing Niall away. “Can you maybe spill a drink on your husband or something?”

But Zayn notices the way Louis’ hands rest around Niall’s back in a hug, and the quiet “thank you” Louis whispers as Niall pulls away, so he pretends to be too occupied arranging the food.

“What’s going on?” Liam asks when he and Harry return with drinks in hand, Liam carrying two wine glasses and Harry somehow juggling three.

“Things are happening in here without us, Liam,” Harry says in a grave voice. “It’s unacceptable.”

“You may not believe it,” Zayn says, draping an arm around Louis’ shoulder. “But our Louis has managed to get himself engaged.”

“Well, shit!” Liam exclaims. “Forget leaving the champagne in the fridge, we should put it on ice.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Louis shakes his head, embarrassed. “Let’s all just sit and eat. We have plenty of time for champagne and other drinks later. I didn’t exactly make dinner an easy experience last time, so maybe let’s just focus on getting through a meal together first.”

Everyone laughs a bit and simultaneously congratulates Louis and gives him a hard time as they help themselves to the takeaway feast. Zayn looks at Louis’ profile; his features are as sharp-edged as ever, but he’s smiling his good-natured crooked smile at Liam and Harry. Zayn had wondered if Louis’ problem last week had been a romantic one, and he was both right and wrong about that. Marriage isn’t the same thing as romance. If nothing else, the last seven days have taught him that.

“Everyone is married or getting married,” Harry pouts. “How boring. Liam, maybe I’ll start staying over at your place.”

“I only have a one bedroom flat,” Liam says, with some alarm. “Zayn and Niall’s is a palace compared to my place.”

“If you think only one bedroom is going to stop him…” Zayn shakes his head.

“Hell, if you think only one bed is going to stop him!” Niall shouts with laughter. “You’re sadly mistaken.”

“You should’ve seen Zayn and Niall’s old place before they got married,” Harry cackles. “A cramped, awful mess.”

“Laugh it up, Styles,” Zayn says. “We have so many embarrassing stories about you to tell Liam, where to even begin?”

“Oh god.” Liam pulls a face. “Please don’t ever tell me whether or not Harry has shared a bed with you, like, since you’ve been together.”

Niall slams his hand on the coffee table, he’s laughing so much.

“Hey!” Harry protests. “That one time I was really ill, I honestly couldn’t be alone.”

“You mean that time you had food poisoning and we had to take care of you like you were our kid?” Zayn interjects.

“Sounds like fun,” Louis comments.

“Oh yeah, a riot.” Niall rolls his eyes. “Anyway, the rest of the time, he was just afraid of the dark.”

Harry doesn’t bother denying it. “This is why I should definitely come stay over at your place, Liam.”

“I’m sorry, but don’t you have a home of your own?” Liam asks.

“Yes, but like Niall said, I don’t like the dark. And the problem with my place is that it’s really too big for one person.”

Liam’s face lights up with a cheeky grin. “In that case, maybe I should come stay over there.”

Harry looks at Liam in awe. “I never thought of that.”

Louis bursts out laughing. “I’ve never seen anyone invite themselves over to someone else’s house with such grace. Credit to you, Liam. Harry really wasn’t expecting that.”

“It’s not my fault,” Harry frowns. “These two,” he indicates Zayn and Niall, “never want to come over. They always stay cooped up here like a couple of losers. I got used to not living at my own home.”

Zayn shrugs. “What can I say, I like the company here.”

Everyone boos him for being sappy, and they all throw napkins at him, even Niall, although he also blows Zayn a kiss.

Zayn notices that they’ve ended up sitting in a kind of circle around the coffee table. Louis and Niall are on the floor, Zayn is in a chair, and Harry and Liam are on the sofa. The circle doesn’t feel off-balance like it had last time, and it takes Zayn a minute to figure out what different. It’s him. He feels different. _Trust yourself_ , Simon had said, and Zayn finally does. He trusts himself implicitly, and he trusts himself within this group of people.

He looks over to Niall, not because there’s a problem, but because he wants to. Because Niall is there, and because he’s great to look at. Niall is chatting with Louis, but he catches Zayn’s eye. They look at each other and it’s really only for a few seconds, but it feels much longer as everything else around them seems to slow down. 

Niall gives Zayn a little half smile, and it’s private, just for Zayn. It’s both a tease and a genuine promise. It’s something Zayn will see the other half of later that night. Zayn nods in return, and Niall turns back to Louis just in time to laugh at something he’s said.

Zayn sinks back into his chair, feeling truly settled for the first time. His mind isn’t racing, his hands aren’t aching to write. He’s learned a lot about the intersection of privacy and intimacy, about how a silent exchange can be meaningful even in a crowded room. Some things don’t need to be put into words. 

 

_fin._


End file.
